Last night I was called to help her, and discovered Dad on the floor, sitting in a pool of his own urine, staring blankly into space. I helped to lift him, desperately avoiding the wet spots on the floor, and returned him to his bed. Mother handled the rest from there. She put him in adult diapers, but he keeps taking them off and getting out of bed. This morning I was woken up to help get Dad back in bed again. Usually he would respond to simple commands and help us out with what little strength he had, but this time he didn't seem to understand us at all.
My father is already dead; it's only a matter of time until his physical shell follows him. What's left is only a mumbling, drooling shadow of who he used to be. I made the recommendation that Dad be put in a home, and Mother agreed. This situation has evolved beyond our ability to control. There's only two of us here, and we can't constantly watch him around the clock. At least in a care facility, Father will be able to live out his remaining days in relative comfort, surrounded by medical professionals who'll be able to react quickly to his needs.
My brother, Wally, is coming here from Ohio to assist us. When told about the severe nature of Dad's condition, he decided to leave his wife and children at home and come alone. My uncle Jacky is visiting shortly, as is my niece. I'd rather my niece didn't come. I don't think she needs to see Dad like this, but she is now an adult working on her college degree. It's not my place to forbid her if she really wants to come here. I just hope she can handle what she sees.
As for me, well ... I've been doing some hard thinking. I think I'm almost ready to make a decision.